14 (To Hell & Back)
by Soulhearts
Summary: 14 One-shots to count down the hiatus (hell-atus). Each one is based on/around an episode (though there are a few that aren't). No. 1: The Family Mess - [Dark Side of the Moon] from Sam's perspective. No. 02: Out of the Fire - [Soul Survivor]. No. 03: Just a Car - [Reichenbach] from Baby's perspective. More inside. Some Destiel.
1. The Family Mess

1\. _The Family Mess –_ **5.16 (Dark Side of the Moon)**

" _Hello? No, John, we're not having this conversation again. ...Think about what?… Two boys at home... Fine, then don't... There's nothing more to talk about."_ Mary had slammed the phone down on the receiver, finalising the conversation on the phone between her and John as Sam watched the exchange take place quietly.

Even in heaven Dean's life wasn't all candy-canes and lollipops, the younger realised harshly. For the next five minutes, Sam was unable to draw his eyes away from Dean's unfolding memory of their mother, but the younger Winchester's tongue had finally loosened when Mary disappeared in order to find her oldest son some pie.

"What?" Dean questioned sharply, feeling almost defensive about his heaven as Sam stared at him with a horrible mixture of pity and sympathy.

"I just never realised just how long you've been cleaning up Dad's messes." Sam's acknowledged as he leaned against the doorframe to the dinning room inside their childhood home back in Kansas.

 _Yeah,_ _wasn't that the_ _t_ _ru_ _th_ _._ Dean shrugged, brushing off his younger brother's piercing comment. Did Sam know just how much that had stung him? Nah, probably not. Sam hadn't meant it like Dean had taken it. The problem was, Sam was far too right. The two of them were up in heaven and once again it boiled down to Dean, cleaning up his family's mess. Only this time it was _Sam's_ mess, not his dad's, because Sammywas the one who, quote, "flicked the switch on the apocalypse" according to the two hunter's―Roy and Walt―that had sent their asses up here, courtesy of three bullets to the chest for the both of them.

Dean was the backbone of his family. Always had been, always would be. It had been hard but, no one had ever said life was fair. It'd never been fair to Dean. He'd just been made to grow up too fast. When Dean had _truly_ started struggling to keep any kind of grip on reality, Sam had stepped in and just barely kept him on the rails, but what about when Dean had been a kid, huh? Oh yeah, he'd never been a kid. _Hunter_ _s_ _didn't get to be kids_. Well, Sammy had… kinda. Dean had made sure Sam had had at least _some_ semblance of a childhood. He didn't resent Sam for living at least part of his life unaware of what really lurked in the shadows, in truth, the reason that Sam had gone so long not knowing what was out there was because Dean had made sure he wouldn't find out. He'd made sure that Sam was kept safe―that he was healthy, clean, well-fed and loved. Dean had always made sure Sam's nightmares were kept at bay. Both imaginary _and_ real.

Before now, Sam had never been there to see the truth of Dean's early childhood, but he was getting a pretty clear image that life hadn't always been peachy. Their parents hadn't always had a happy marriage, not like John had made it out to be for so many years. Dean let out a sigh and Sam looked over, the pity returning as he finally started to understand what Dean had been through. His older brother had given up so much for him and in doing so, Dean had sacrificed his own happiness for the people around him.

Saving people,

Hunting things,

The family…

 _mess._


	2. Out of the Fire

02\. _Out of the Fire_ ― **10.03** **(** **Soul Survivor** **)**

To be frank, Dean was honestly surprised. Surprised that he was cuffed to this chair, surprised that he was stuck in this demon trap and even more surprised that his younger brother was filling a vial of human blood, preparing to stick the pointy end into Dean's arm. All of these things surprised Dean. He knew what mental process Sam was currently going through, the classic Winchester phrase "because we're family" but, from Dean experiences in the past, it had only ever been him that thought that way. Sam had hardly wanted Dean as his brother; he'd proven that _countless_ times in the past, dating all the way back to when Sam ran off to Stanford and ditched Dean's ass with their dad. In fact, without all that sorry Winchester guilt running through his veins, Dean was finally beginning to see what a lousy brother he'd actually lived with all these years. For example, it'd only been last year that Dean had tried to do the right thing by allowing an angel named Ezekiel into Sam's body so he could heal his brother, but things had gone awry and the angel had turned out not to be Ezekiel but a betrayer called Gadreel who had then proceeded to kill Kevin whilst occupying Sam's body. Dean didn't think Sam was ever going to forgive him for that. His intentions had been good, but no matter how Dean had tried to repair their relationship, Sam did not want to go back to being brothers. Yet, that wasn't the only time Sam had easily given up Dean. Once upon a time, Dean had been stuck in purgatory only to find out a year later when he'd finally managed to crawl out of the leviathan mud-pit that Sam had never even looked for him. Sam had never even _tried_ to rescue him. Not to mention the things Sam had said and done when he hadn't had a soul.

Yeah, surprised didn't even begin to cover how Dean was feeling. Why had Sam decided to drag him back this time? He was happy living his carefree life as a demon, why couldn't Sam have dragged him out of purgatory instead? Why now, when he was finally happy, finally free of Sam and the knowledge that the younger only weighed him down.

"You notice I tried to get as far away from you as possible?" Dean asked rhetorically, Sam's back turned to him. "Away from your whining and complaining. I chose _the king of hell_ over you! Maybe I was just… tired of babysitting you… or always having to yank your lame ass out of the fire since," Dean grunted, "forever." He didn't even need to add harsh or spiteful words, what he said was the truth―the _real_ truth. Even before Dean had become a demon these words had longed to be said. But of course, he hadn't. He couldn't hurt Sammy, no, back then he'd still been 'Big Brother Dean', guilt-ridden, family lovin' Dean.

"Or maybe," Dean furthered, the facts tumbling one after the other out of his mouth, "maybe it's because my mother would still be alive if it wasn't for you. That your _very existence_ sucked the life out of my life!" Hell, wasn't that the goddamn truth. The old Dean never could've said these things, the old Dean wouldn't have been able to bear the pain and rejection flashing across Sammy's face. But, then again, he wasn't _that_ Dean anymore. He was the new and improved model!

"This isn't my brother talking," Sam reasoned with a tight, humourless smile as he turned to face his older brother.

"You never had a brother―" The demon yelled, a smirk appearing on his face as he watched the hurt his words caused.

The poor little Winchester baby was going to cry? _Good_ , thought Dean, _he deserved_ _to_. Sam could believe whatever he wanted, but Dean really meant these things. These weren't the words of a demon, these were the words of a jaded big brother who'd been screwed over and forgotten in the dark one too many times. After all, how many times did it take for him to realise that Sam had never wanted him in the first place?

"―just an excuse for not manning up." Dean continued, enjoying the wetness in the corners of Sam's eyes. "Well, guess what? I quit."

" _No_ , no you don't," Sam interrupted, the distress obvious in his voice as he pointed a finger in Dean's direction as though to emphasise his desperation. "You don't get to quit. We don't get to _quit_ in this family, _this family is all we've ever had!_ "

" _Well then we got nothin'!"_ Dean fired back. Please, _we don't get to quit?_ Screw that! Sam had bailed on him more times than he could count on one hand. Was this some kind of redemption question to him? As though this would make up for all the times that he'd run out or run away?

"Would you say that to dad?" Sam suddenly asked, clearly running out of options. The younger was still trying to play the family card, but what Sam didn't know was that Dean didn't care! Their dad had nearly been as bad as Sam in the family department.

"Oh there's a prize," Dean nearly laughed. "There's a man who brain-washed us into wasting our lives fighting his _losing_ battle!"

Sam unexpectedly shook his head and turned away, obviously unable to listen to Dean's truths any longer.

"Ooh," Dean laughed humourlessly, the sound coming out as more of a gravelly growl. "Is this you ' _manning up_?'"

Sam filled the vial and faced Dean once more, his expression tight but not bordering on fury or despair.

"This is me," Sam began, strolling back over to his older brother and jabbing the needle back into his arm with a hurtful amount of force, "Yanking your lame ass out of the fire."


	3. Just a Car

03\. _Just a Car_ ― **10.02 (Reichenbach)**

Speeding down the highway at a more conservative pace than she was used to, Baby found herself in the capable hands of her Sam, the Winchester whom she hadn't seen in weeks. Life had been rather hectic of late and Dean, well, _her_ Dean had been MIA for a little while. Baby already understood that the SoB handcuffed to the door in her back-seat _wasn't_ the beautiful soul that had repaired her time and time again. The _thing_ that had been driving her around for the last month didn't give two shits about her, which was why Baby was more than relieved that Sam had taken her wheel. She knew Sam was worried and she'd be lying if she said that she wasn't worried as well. She didn't know what kind monster was in her back seat, but she knew at the core her Dean was inside it. Besides, it wasn't the first time she'd picked up half a Winchester. Sam had ridden around with her and Dean for months before Dean had worked out that his brother was missing his engine― _his soul_ _―_ as the angel, Castiel, had called it. Baby could've told Dean that Sam was missing a few parts as soon as he stepped foot inside her. It was pretty easy to tell when a person wasn't a person anymore, especially if you knew them as well as Baby knew her beloved Winchester boys. After all, she'd practically raised them. Her, John at her wheel and the two boys in her back. Those had been the days.

"This thing is filthy..." Sam suddenly stated, rather accusatory towards the thing in her back seat, as he flicked an empty paper cup on her dashboard.

 _Way to hurt a girl's feelings, Sam_. His words were true though, she couldn't deny it. The Dean lookalike had treated her like a trash can and her insides were littered with mouldy burger leftovers, coffee cups and almost empty beer cans.

"It's just a car, Sam." Dean murmured with a glance in his brother's direction before returning his gaze to the darkness outside.

Baby noted that Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise and while Dean's words had cut her deeply, she felt thankful that Sam was there with them now. Sam wouldn't let anything happen to her, not like the angry assbutt in the back. Sam finally seemed to realise what she'd been dealing with for the past few weeks. This was _not_ Dean.

"It's just a… car?" Sam fixed his eyes back on the road ahead and tightened his grip on her wheel. "Wow, you really have gone dark."

 _No shit!_ Sometimes Baby wondered if she was the only observant, level-headed one around here. She'd been trying to tell Sam that this wasn't Dean from the moment he'd hopped into the drivers seat. This wasn't like the time with Sam, she could feel Dean's engine, his soul was still there, but it was like someone had ripped up all his upholstery and had messed with his wiring.

The Dean lookalike flicked a smirk in Sam's direction, "You have no idea."


	4. One Is One Time Too Many

04\. _One Is One Time Too Many_ ― **5.01 (Sympathy for the Devil)**

" _This kinda thing don't get forgiven boy!"_ Bobby yelled, nearly stumbling down the stairs in his blinding rage, wrath directed at Sam.

Dean moved his gaze and found his younger brother, jaw clenched, staring tensely at the floor. He watched from the corner of the dusty motel room as Sam's face melted into one of distress at Bobby's harsh, heartbreaking words.

It was true, this sort of thing really _couldn't_ be forgiven, but Dean was trying desperately to put it behind him. Sam had brought about Armageddon, setting Lucifer free from hell by killing Lilith after drinking a shit ton of demon blood from a demon called Ruby, whom they'd met occasionally in the past. Yet none of that mattered anymore, what was done was done, there was no getting past that, and Dean didn't have the luxury of abandoning Sam. They were brother's after all.

He'd tried to stop the kid, he truly had, but Sam hadn't listened. He had tried _so damn hard_ to protect Sam, make sure he didn't make any stupid decisions. But, oh how _spectacularly_ he'd failed. If their dad were alive, Dean was sure that he'd be skinned alive for letting Sam slip up so magnificently under his watch. Plus, he'd known what Bobby's reaction would be and had tried to stop Sam from confessing, but Sam just hadn't listened, and Dean knew what the consequences would be. However, all that aside, Dean knew _why_ Sam had had to confess himself, why he'd had to explain himself to Bobby.

Because the grumpy old drunk was like a surrogate father to the both of them. Dean knew Sam couldn't live with that guilt on his chest. Sam was still innocent compared to him. Dean had been to hell and back… he'd _tortured souls_ for crying out loud! All Sam had done was make a few stupid decisions.

It was obvious to Dean that the youngest Winchester felt exposed and ashamed in the middle of the room as Bobby's disappointment blazed clearly in his eyes. Sam clearly wanted to get down on his knees and beg for Bobby's forgiveness, but he knew he couldn't. He didn't _deserve_ Bobby's forgiveness. Not after what he'd done.

"If by some _miracle_ we pull this off," Bobby continued with a small shake of his head and fierce, angry eyes. "I want you to lose my number, understand me?"

Sam looked as though he were about to cry and even Dean wanted to tell the old geezer that he was being unfair, not that he was being unfair. Bobby had every right not to want to see Sam ever again after this. They'd dragged the old hunter into their mess, he didn't deserve the loads of crap that the Winchester's had piled on him over the years. Still… Sam's distressed face made it hard for Dean to swallow and push back tears of his own.

Completely distraught, Sam gave a tiny little nod at Bobby's words and his nostrils flared from the shock, while Dean moved his sight away from the younger, he couldn't look at Sam's face anymore. It was too much.

"There's an old church nearby," Sam managed to choke out, still reeling from the rejection. "M-maybe I'll go read some of the lore books there…"

"Yeah," Bobby's gaze hardened ever further as he eye-balled Sam. "You do that."

Sam didn't even bother to nod this time, instead he simply turned away from the man who had acted as his father for so many years and headed for the door, closing it softly in his wake. The younger Winchester didn't once look at his older brother, but Dean watched the whole exchange with mixed feelings, even though he'd been hanging back and refusing to get between the two. It took him a minute to realise that Bobby had turned around and was now glaring at him instead.

"You got somethin' to say?" Bobby frowned, his upper lip twitching and nearly reaching a snarl.

"No." Dean replied tersely, feeling guilty about not sticking up for Sammy. "Let's just find out where that Michael Sword is."


	5. Ain't Nobody Killin' Today

05\. _Ain't Nobody Killin' Today_ ― **6** **.** **11** **(** **Appointment in Samarra)**

Amid dead silence, Sam and Bobby sat at the kitchen table both throwing in their blue, white and red poker chips, neither of them revealing their hand as they stared expressionlessly at the other. At this point, even Bobby had to admit that Sam was an incredible player without a soul to occupy him. However, the bearded geezer was good too. The old man wasn't _just_ a professional alcoholic or a pretty face, he was an experienced hunter, and one with finely honed intuition. The game play was completely quiet aside from the occasional beer bottle related sounds when one of them took a drink, but Bobby didn't need to hear Sam speak to know that something was off with the kid by a mile. The soulless Winchester's eyes had already flicked to the red tool box that Dean had left there earlier that day, twice―and that wasn't a coincidence, Bobby was more than sure of that. The kid was planning something and, whatever it was, the older hunter knew it couldn't be anything good.

"Three Aces," Sam calmly laid out his hand on the table and presented Bobby with defeat as the hunter found his hand to low to win. Bobby grabbed the two beer bottles on the table with a little shake of his head.

"You want another one?" He asked, raising the aforementioned object with an accompanied nod. After all these years, Bobby knew when to make a swift exit and try to find strategic ways to bring down a creature. Sam wasn't some thing to be hunted, but Bobby's instincts were screaming at him like he was. It wasn't just the lack of soul. There was something more going on.

Sam glanced up, "Ah yeah, sure."

Bobby didn't miss the way Sam's eyes briefly traversed to the tool box behind him, but he turned his back and made his way to the fridge.

That was when it happened. Really, it was over in a matter of seconds, but to Bobby, it seemed to go on for ages. Sam had removed himself from the table and with his lanky arms, had had no problem quickly reaching a wrench that still stuck halfway out the tool box. But Bobby wasn't an idjit. The old man had been prepared for this. Before Sam could knock him out, Bobby had taken the defensive initiative and grabbed a crowbar that he hid down the side of the fridge, swinging it as hard as he could as he spun around and feeling the odd but familiar sensation of metal hitting bone.

Sam went down in an instant, his weapon falling to the floor beside him as he was knocked unconscious.

Bobby shook his head at the unconscious Sam as he walked back over to the table to grab some rope which he could tie the younger up with. "I may have been born at night boy, but it wasn't last night." The old hunter muttered to himself.

However, upon turning back to Sam, Bobby found that the giant lump of a man was already missing from where he'd collapsed on the floor and the old hunter cursed himself internally for not remembering that Sam couldn't be knocked unconscious… well, not for very long anyway.

"Not good..." Bobby softly murmured, glancing around the room wildly, but not finding any sign of the Winchester boy. Dean had already explained to him that Sam without his soul didn't sleep. Why Bobby had believed he could knock the younger out was a stupid, rookie mistake.

Almost immediately, Bobby forgot all about the rope in his hand and he quickly discarded it on the floor as he reached for the shotgun under the study desk, quickly loading the bullets and cocking it.

"Let's not do anything hasty here Sam…" the older man said, stalking through the house and looking for the wrench-wielding maniac that was apparently now intent on killing him.

The quiet was almost unbearable as Bobby lurked through the kitchen, and it became even more frightening when he heard the unmistakeable sound of a door clicking shut. Swearing internally, Bobby dashed for the closet and locked it from the inside. He _really_ didn't want to have to kill Sam…

After a little rattle of the door handle which told Bobby that Sam was standing on the other side of the same door, there was half a moment of stillness before a metal object came flying through the wood. Bobby nearly jumped out of his skin as Sam pounded the door and started breaking it apart.

Oddly, the first thing he noticed was the trickle of blood running down Sam's forehead from where he had tried and failed to knock him out earlier and were the situation even remotely funny, Bobby would have laughed at himself for still worrying about Sam more than himself.

"Don't say 'Here's Johnny'―" Bobby gave a mirthless smile, still trying to retain some of his humour even in the given situation before Sam interrupted him.

"I gotta do this Bobby, I'm sorry." Sam interjected, the old hunter half wanting to believe that Sam _was_ sorry, but knowing in his heart that he wasn't. "You shouldn't have cornered yourself."

That was where Sam had it all wrong. Once again the Winchester had underestimated his mentor. Bobby may have taught the two idjits nearly all he knew, but there were still a few secrets he'd kept to himself. Being a hunter was almost like being a magician: you never gave _all_ your secrets away.

"I didn't." Bobby announced plainly, secretly proud of himself for being so forward thinking as he yanked an old wooden lever, watching as Sam fell through the floor on the other side. Damn son, there was a reason he'd lived so long! Sam was more of an airhead than Bobby'd first believed if he thought he'd be able to take him out _that_ easily.

In a way, it was an almost comical experience to see Sam fall through his home-made trapdoor and into the basement below, but once again, the situation remained too serious for Bobby to even want to laugh about it. In a very tiny way, Bobby felt a little betrayed by his adopted son. It didn't seem to matter that he knew Sam wasn't in his right mind, there was still a very teensy part of him that thought Sam would still try to retain some semblance of his humanity. Yet, he was wrong. The Sam that Bobby had raised and loved was missing. _That_ Sam was being tortured by Michael and Lucifer. _That_ Sam was still in hell. The only way to set things right was to bring that Sam back, though that was proving far more difficult than first imagined.

Bobby dashed out of the closet and made his way around to the basement door, listening as Sam came up the stairs, tried the handle of the door and went back down again. This couldn't be good, Bobby thought, listening harder before hearing the unmistakable sound of something metal whacking against the metal door.

"Reinforced steel door," Bobby yelled through to Sam, the shot-gun still in his hand. "With titanium kick-plates…" he trailed off and the banging stopped almost instantly. "You wanna explain what this is about?"

"Just… uh… I have to do this Bobby…" Sam replied, huffing.

"Says who?"

There was quiet again between them for a moment.

"When Dean shoves that soul back in me, think about how bad that could really be." Sam continued, his breathing heavily laboured. "I mean, it's not like I _want_ to kill you… You've been nothing but good to me."

"So," Bobby pulled a face and was nearly glad that Sam couldn't see. "What, demon deal or somethin'?"

"Spell."

"You're makin' a mistake, Sam."

"I'm trying to survive!"

"Dean's got a way to make it safe!"

"Oh yeah, like some wall inside my head that _maybe_ stays up? Come on…"

"If it works―"

"―And what if it doesn't?" Sam cut him off. "Look, Dean doesn't care about me. He just cares about his little brother, Sammy, burning in hell. He'll kill me to get that other guy back."

Bobby suddenly felt like he'd been slapped. Sam's words were true, but it wasn't just Dean they applied to. He too would do the same in order to get Sam back―the _real_ Sam. However, they couldn't just give up. Sam _needed_ his soul, whether he knew that or not.

"Look," Bobby softened. "I… I know how scary it is. But ya know what's scarier? _You_ , right now. You're not in your right head, Sam. You're not givin' us much choice here."

When there was no reply, Bobby immediately found himself growing uneasy again.

"Sam?" He called through the door.

Again there was no reply.

Mentally going through several swears, Bobby settled on "Balls!" and after hesitating for only a moment, unlocked the basement door, swinging it open. He wasn't surprised when Sam wasn't on the other side, but it did make him very nervous. "Ain't nobody killin' me in my house."

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 **A/N:** _Thank you to the lovely Ember Winchester for leaving me so many reviews and giving me a prompt to write! I hope it lived up to your expectations? It's about 1000 words longer than these were intended to be but, eh... Also, thank you to everyone who continues to follow this and I encourage you to leave episode or scene suggestions that you would like me to write about._

Much Love,  
Soulhearts


	6. Driver Picks the Music

06. _Driver Picks the Music, Shot-gun Shuts his Cake-hole_ ― **1.01 (Pilot)**

"I swear man, you gotta update your cassette tape collection…" Sam advised abrasively as he rifled through Dean's music box that had been harshly jammed in the glove box without mercy.

It didn't really matter to him in the big scale of things, not really. He was only going with Dean to find their father and then he was coming straight back home to Jess and his Stanford college life. He was taking this small little detour for Dean's sake mostly, not his dad's. Dean had barged right back into his life and given him the guilt-trip from hell before he'd agree to accompany him, but Sam had always been weak to Dean's requests, probably because his big brother had been more like his guardian and protector. More so than his ever-absent father at least.

"Why?" Dean bristled, glancing over at him as his hands paused in their preparation to start up the engine.

"Well, for one, they're cassette tapes," Sam illuminated jokingly as he picked up a number of cassettes and read the labels on the sides. "And, two: Black Sabbath, Motor Head, Metallica―?"

Very quickly, Dean yanked the Metallica tape out of Sam's hand defensively.

"―It's the greatest hits of the mullet rock." Sam continued, goading. A little smirk appearing on his face.

"Well," Dean interjected before Sam could continue criticising his music taste, "house rules, Sammy. Driver picks the music, shot-gun shuts his cake-hole."

Dean tossed the Metallica cassette back into the box in Sam's hands and turned the key to the ignition, AC/DC's 'Back in Black' immediately blasting through the speakers and drowning out Sam's next sentence: "You know Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old. It's Sam!"

"Sorry, I can't hear you," Dean announced, this time wearing a smug little grin. "The music's too loud."

Sam didn't really have much opportunity to reply as Dean pulled out of the gas station at near break-neck speeds and dangerously swerved them onto the side road that led back to the main highway. Not that he wanted to. In Sam's mind, Dean was still that irritating nineteen-year-old that he hadn't been able to get away from when he had been younger. Sure, he owed Dean a lot, but that didn't mean that Dean wasn't just as annoying as he always had been.

Cruising down the highway, the AC/DC cassette still blaring so loud that there was no way either of them would be heard if they attempted to talk, Sam was stared pensively out the window as Dean's words echoed in his mind. Maybe it had just been the earlier conversation, or just being with his brother, or perhaps it was the familiar smell of the Impala's leather seats, but Sam caught himself thinking about his father.

How many times had dad said those words? ' _Driver picks the music, shot-gun shuts his cake-hole.'_ He was willing to bet that that was where Dean had picked up most of his sayings and mannerisms. Sam found it almost… _sad_ that Dean was nothing more than a poor replica of their father. Dean had had the potential to be so much more, he still did! Sam had gone off to college, why the hell couldn't Dean? Not that he'd bring it up with the older. Dean was already far too defensive about the family business, already far too jaded and unable to trust anyone who wasn't family.

But still, Sam worried about his big brother. Their dad might've been an A-class ass-hole for raising them in this life but that didn't mean Dean had to follow him all the way to the end. Dean didn't have to waste his life like this. In Sam's eyes, Dean had basically given up all hope of an apple-pie life and that made _him_ feel like a failure as a little brother. He was the only constant support that Dean had ever really had, but he'd quit the family business and let them go; let Dean down. Because Sam knew that Dean didn't see the same potential in him that Sam did. Dean didn't know that he didn't have to be the driver or even the shot-gun, to Sam, he just had to be Dean and that was all that really mattered.


	7. Fear IT

07. _Fear_ _IT_ ― **14** **.0** **7** **(P** **lucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie** **)**

"Wait a minute," Dean's voice echoed through the phone receiver and Sam could clearly hear the strain it was taking him to keep the humour out of his tone. "This isn't about your clown thing, is it?"

Sam stood in the middle of their motel room dressed in his FBI getup and edgily preventing himself from pacing up and down the length of the suite as he spoke over the phone. He was recalling vividly the first time he'd been afraid of a clown and he was certainly more than a little spooked that he was now having to face the prospect of deliberately going into a place that was nearly comprised solely of clowns.

"What?!" He answered a little too quickly, his voice shooting from rumbling bass to twittering soprano in a matter of seconds, cluing Dean that he'd hit the nail right on. "No…" He tried to even out his voice, make it less obvious that his big brother had him all figured out. Dean was far too good at reading him but, after the amount of stunts he'd pulled as a child, trying to wriggle his way out of trouble, it didn't surprise him in the slightest.

"Sammy…" Sam could immediately tell from the tone of Dean's voice that he was both unconvinced and lightly amused.

 _Ah, God damn it!_ Now Dean was calling him Sammy! Sammy, for crying out loud, was a chubby twelve-year-old and it was _Sammy_ that he'd dumped in those terrible children's play-places. His fear of clowns was really all Dean's fault anyway! It was _Dean_ who'd stuck him in those places and gone off with his friends-at-the-time looking for chicks. Sam was the one who'd suffered the consequences and he wasn't even quite sure why he was trying to hide this from Dean. _The ass-hole should know it was all his fault that he was afraid of clowns!_ Of course, he couldn't blame Dean entirely. Had John done less hunting and been more of a father, he never would've endured such traumatic things. However, his thoughts made him feel slightly guilty―John had tried his hardest to be there for them.

"No!" He continued to try and convince. Sam heard Dean chuckle softly through the phone and he flinched at the sound.

"What in the world did they do to you?" Dean asked before continuing so Sam wouldn't interject. "You know what, never mind. Just know that ninety-nine-point-nine percent of all clowns can't hurt you."

When Sam didn't immediately reply, Dean prompted him. "Okay?"

Forgetting that Dean couldn't see him on the other end of the phone, Sam nodded wildly, desperately clinging to his big brother's words. Dean was completely unaware of the horrors he'd been through at the hands of clowns and Dean obviously wasn't aware that the percentage of non-lethal clowns wasn't that high.

"―and if it bleeds," continued Dean seriously, "you can kill it."


	8. Dangerous Game

**A/N:** Hi guys, sorry it's been a while! I just wanted to give a heads up that this chapter is not episode related (or even cannon related) and involves the Destiel pairing so if this isn't your thing, politely step away now. :) For those who do read it, thank you and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 **Dangerous Game**

When Dean and Cas climbed into bed each night, it was Dean who turned out the lights, Dean who was the big spoon (though it was Cas who topped, because the angel understood without words how much Dean needed to have someone who could make him forget for a while) and it was always Dean who was apologising for stepping on his lover's feelings unintentionally. It had been this way since the two of them admitted their feelings and decided to share a room together―Dean's room specifically―and Cas was fully aware how glad Sam was that he'd chosen a room so far away from his brother's.

Yet, tonight was different and what was worse, Castiel knew it was all his fault. The guilt ate at him like a worm chewing through a rotten apple and Dean's anger made him feel so stupid. He should've known better, he should've known Dean would act like this.

"Dean… I'm _sorry_ ," he apologised for the umpteenth time in the semi-darkness to the hunter's back. "I didn't think―"

"Yeah," Dean interjected, his voice somewhat muffled due to the fact he wasn't facing the angel. "You didn't think!"

"Please, Dean… I didn't think it would matter! I thought that―"

" _You didn't think it would matter?!_ " Dean turned over, meeting the sapphire-sky eyes filled with repentance and regret. "What the _fuck,_ Cas?! You risked you're life over something and now you're telling me that you didn't think it would _matter_ _―_ _?_ "

"I didn't mean it like that, Dean!" Cas quickly backtracked, realising the error in his words. "I only meant that I thought I would be in and out so quickly that you wouldn't even know I'd been on a hunt."

Dean eye-balled him furiously. He was so angry at his angel! When did anything on a hunt ever go that smoothly? The stupid, dumb-ass should've waited for Sam and Dean to get there so the three of them could clear out the witch coven together, instead he'd gone in and nearly gotten himself killed. Cas should know by now that, while angels were powerful, they could still be brought down by humans and non-humans alike.

Dean cast his gaze down at the angel's hairless pecs, avoiding Cas' stare studiously.

"How would you feel if…" Dean muttered so quietly that it was inaudible.

"Dean?" Cas prompted, listening hard in case Dean repeated himself. However, the hunter shut his trap and kept it sealed.

The angel frowned, gently sticking a finger under Dean's stubble-covered chin and lifting it until Dean met his eyes once more.

"Dean," Cas murmured, leaning in closer and putting his forehead against his wounded lover's. "I really am sorry… I promise, I'll never do something so stupid again, alright?"

Dean hesitated, not sure if he was able to believe the angel's words.

"P-promise?" He stammered, internally cursing himself for sounding so insecure.

"I swear." Cas affirmed, sliding his hand out from Dean's chin and moving it down towards the hunter's waist so he could pull them closer.

Dean let out a little breath as their noses bumped and Cas felt his human lover relent to his apologetic kiss.

"I love you, Cas." Dean whispered against the angel's lips as they parted for half a moment.

Cas smiled knowingly, happy that Dean was forgiving him.

"I love you too, Dean."


	9. Medius Fidius, ut Purificatus

09. _Medius Fidius, ut Purificatus_ ― **8.21 (The Great Escapist)**

"I've been remembering things, little things," Sam rambled as the two of them left their motel room, blinking at the bright lights in the hallway.

"What, like donkey rides?" Dean cut in, wishing he could snort and laugh at this situation, but knowing Sam's condition was far too serious for any humour whatsoever.

Dean had just pulled his brother out of the most horrific fever and honestly, he was freaking out, but Sam on the other hand seemed rather unperturbed by it which made Dean feel even more uncomfortable about the entire situation. Sam was undertaking three trials and Dean was sure they were going to be the death of him. He couldn't let Sam do this to himself, he had to put a stop to all this nonsense. It worried him, almost to a point of desperation, that his brother was so eager for these trials, it was like Sam was hurrying to drive himself off a cliff where Dean was sure the aftermath was nothing but more blood and pain and fire.

"When I was little," Same continued, ignoring Dean's last comment, "and I mean, _really_ little, you used to read to me from that old classics illustrated comic book, you remember that?"

Dean could very vaguely recall reading to his little brother when he'd been young, but he couldn't have been older than seven and Sam would've only been about three or four at the time, and Dean certainly didn't remember any illustrated comic book.

"No," he shook his head, Sam still poised to interject again.

"―Knights of the round table!" The younger punctuated, going on and on about some knight and a quest that Sam believed he could never go on. Dean blinked, turning his head when Sam's tone changed.

"I could never go on a quest like that..." Sam repeated, coming to a standstill in front of his brother. "Because… I'm not clean."

Dean's forehead creased, his brows coming together as he listened with ever growing fear to Sam's monologue. What the hell did Sam mean by _not clean_? Why the hell would a four-year-old even believe such a notion? He could understand it if Sam felt like that now, but back then? Sam had been a _child_ and he'd already believed himself dirtied.

"Do you think… maybe I knew?" Sam's eyes flicked side to side, Dean watching with horror but not allowing any emotion to pass over his face. "I mean like, deep down… that I had… _demon blood_ in me? That I… wasn't pure?"

Dean swallowed and diverted his gaze from Sam's, unable to take the desperate need to rationalise everything in his little brother's eyes. For so many years, he'd thought he managed to keep the worst of the evil at bay. He thought he'd been protecting Sammy from the worst of it, but it was only now that he was realising what a failure he'd been as a protector. He'd done barely anything, because Sam believed himself to be _evil_!

"Sam," he looked up into those murky eyes, wholly intending to put Sam's mind to rest but only finding the familiar scared stare of the seven-year-old he'd once been basically a parent to. "It wasn't your fault."

Sam shook his head, denying Dean's words before adding more of his own.

"… It doesn't matter anymore." He began, the dark rings under his eyes and the wetness in them suddenly becoming all the more noticeable. "Because these trials… they're purifying me."

Dean could hardly keep his emotions behind a blank façade anymore. Sam was suffering. Not only physically, but mentally he'd been laboriously weighed under these beliefs for the entirety of his life. Dean felt sick, on so many levels. The notion that Sam believed himself so unclean, so sullied… The way Sam believed there was something so horrifically wrong with him. As though his body was rotten, as though his soul was tainted.

Oh, God help him, he was going to get Sam through this.


	10. Demon Blood

10\. _Demon Blood_ _―_ **4.21 (When the Levee Breaks)**

This was more than hard.

Dean wasn't going to deny it; he was walking away from his little brother. Currently, his sick in the head little brother. Although he knew it was for Sam's own good―the younger Winchester had to be detoxed from the copious amounts of demon blood he'd been drinking―but it didn't stop it from being difficult to walk away, especially since he could still hear Sam shouting desperately at him, calling for Dean to let him out as the older hunter slowly ascended the old pine wood stairs from Bobby's basement to the kitchen. God, he wasn't sure how much longer he could listen to Sam scream.

Dean paused halfway up the wooden stairs and had to grab the shaky railing for a brief second, needing the support. Each of Sam's cries was pulsating into his heart like someone was stabbing him in the back with a metal stake repeatedly. Ever since the tender age of four, he'd been attuned to the sounds of Sam's distress, which was probably what made this entire ordeal so damn difficult. Sam thought he was fine, thought he was doing the right thing by drinking demon blood; "becoming stronger" so he could kill Lilith with the freaky sideshow powers it gave him… and it _hurt_ Dean that Sam could even believe that. Where had his little brother even gotten the notion that it was a good idea― _hell_ ―even _okay_ to trust a demon? Yet, even more importantly, why had Sam not come to him first? It was a rhetorical question, but there still lay some curiosity. He wished he could be more useful at this point. He could very well be driving his brother to madness.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut for half a moment, uselessly trying to block out the world for a second as he let himself be swallowed up by regret, hurt and anger. He kind of understood Sam's logic. If you could call it that. He could, in truth, partially see why Sam would try to stop Lilith on his own, but that didn't make it any better in Dean's book. It still hurt like fucking hell that Sam would do this to him and until his little brother could man up, he'd just have to continue watching out for him. Just like he'd always done. Just like he'd always do.

Sam hollered vociferously from the panic room several more times with swears and horrifically heartbreaking screams that regurgitated from the very depth of his throat, but Dean hardened his heart to them. He couldn't go back down there, he couldn't let Sam out. At least for now. He was going to take care of his brother and he wasn't going to let him get high on any more supernatural substances.

Steeling his nerve, blocking his instinct and fixing his gaze ahead of him, Dean once again started to climb the rickety wooden stairs. He wouldn't be back down here for a while. That much he knew.


	11. Simple Words

**A/N:** Another short, non-episode related drabble. Sam remembering telling Dean he was going to college.

* * *

 **Simple Words**

" _What the hell, Sam?!" Dean shouted, fury and hurt filling his words as he spat them out like acrid acid._

 _He couldn't believe this. If there was a more hurtful way to tell your brother that you were ditching him to run off and live a merry, joyful life, Dean didn't know what it could be, because he swore Sam's words cut more sharply than anything in the trunk of the Impala._

" _I've done everything for you! Everything! I freakin' raised you, Sam! Not Dad, me. I was the one getting up at two in the morning every morning to feed you and change you, and I was the one who bathed you, potty trained you, taught you to walk, taught you to feed yourself, and you think saying this to me is okay? You basically expect me to send you off with my blessing? What about Dad and me, Sam? I thought we were in this together. I thought you knew what it meant to be a part of this family. 'Family doesn't give up on each other', those are just words to you, aren't they? They don't mean anything at all!"_

 _Sam frowned, still trying to keep himself together whilst he avoided his brother's hurt-filled eyes and tried to push away the bitter words that Dean used to lambaste him with._

" _Well… yeah, Dean. It's… it's just college…"_

But that was the last thing Sam had ever said to his brother face to face, well, until said brother had broken into his apartment half a week ago…

"Dean?"

Sam turned to his big brother, the elder glancing over for a split second with mild interest before his eyes returned to the road ahead of them, the humming Impala rumbling underneath.

"I just wanted to say… I'm sorry for running off to college the way I did. I never meant to ditch you like that, I get it now. Sorry…"

Sam watched as a small remnant of a smile flickered across Dean's face before dying away.

"Forget about it Sammy, for now, let's just focus on finding Dad."


	12. At the Bottom of My Soul

12\. _At the Bottom of My Soul_ ― **3.10 (Dream a Little Dream of Me)**

It had all started too early in the morning, if you'd asked Dean's opinion, when he'd found Sam in a bar, an empty glass of whiskey in his hand that clearly wasn't his first. A glance around the bar told him that his brother wasn't here for the high quality chicks and Sam was sitting alone anyway, a sorrowful and depressed expression on his features that would garner him only the company of misery. Sam's eyes were bloodshot and a little spike of pain jabbed through Dean as he realised the redness in Sammy's eyes wasn't from the alcohol but from a night's worth of crying.

In truth, he already knew what was going on in Sammy's head; he was trying to drown his pain, now knowing and finally accepting that Dean couldn't be saved―he was going to hell for all eternity because he'd traded his brother's life for his soul―but Dean felt no satisfaction when his guess turned out to be right.

" _How can you care so little about yourself?"_ His brother had asked, an accusatory note in his tone of grief.

He'd averted his eyes, preparing to casually disregard Sam's answer because actually facing the problem head on was too much angst for either of them to take at eleven in the morning.

Why couldn't he care about himself? Why was he unwilling to be saved? In all honesty he already knew the answer to that question, but before he could snap out a bravado answer and brush off Sam's words as though they were nothing, his little brother interrupted again.

" _What's wrong with you?"_

This time Sam's words weren't filled with anger or accusation. Softly spoken, this time they were a genuine question and Dean couldn't help but feel somewhat affronted.

What was _wrong_ with him? Well, aside from the fact that he'd had to grow up at the age of four so he could look after his baby brother and deal with his dad's mental breaks, oh, and trying to survive in a world where he knew monsters were real, yeah, not much, not much at all. What was wrong with him? Hell, he was just trying to do his best! He was following orders, even now: _keep Sam safe._

But Sam wouldn't get any of that. Sam hadn't had to raise himself, learn how to cook all on his own, learn how to change diapers or nurse a five year old out of a fever. Dean had been the one with all of that on his shoulders. Excuse him if he didn't have his own personality or was a carbon copy of his dad, excuse him if he was simply trying to do some good in a world where something evil was lurking around every corner! How could Sam ask him these things? Had he never taken into account who it was Dean was still living for? He cared about himself, he did, but he could only do so when he knew Sam was safe. Maybe he could blame his father for that, maybe it was his own design, who knew?

But Dean couldn't find the words to reply anyway. Sam would never get it, so why bother trying to explain in the first place?


	13. Homecoming

13\. _Homecoming_ ― **9.07 (Bad Boys)**

According to Sonny it'd " _only been two months",_ but for Dean, at age sixteen, it felt like a lot longer than that. Yet still, his dad had come to pick him up in that old familiar black Impala and he'd known he'd had to go. It hadn't mattered that he'd built a life in this settled back, quiet little town or gotten himself a girlfriend, Robin, or found a place where he'd felt he could truly belong. None of that had mattered when he'd seen Sammy leaning out the car window.

There was a problem with that though.

It.

was.

all.

a.

 _lie…_

It did matter to him. The person to whom it _didn't_ matter was his dad, John, the man who'd left him here for two months only to show up on the night of the school dance. He'd finally been settling down, making friends and letting loose for once in his life. Everything had changed for him since he'd lost all his dad's food money in a card bet and gotten caught red-handed trying to steal a loaf of bread and some peanut butter from the convenience store six miles up the road. That was how he'd been dumped on Sonny in the first place. Except the food hadn't been for him. It had been for Sammy. Not that John had cared. He hadn't even spoken to his dad since being arrested. The only word he'd gotten from his father was through the cop who'd told him his dad was happy to let him rot for a while, apparently so he could reflect on his crimes. Dean couldn't believe it. He'd thought family looked out for each other; sure, he'd believed his dad would still give him a big can of whoop-ass when he got his hands on him, but not in a million years had he expected to be _abandoned!_ What the hell kind of a father was he anyway?

Sonny had been the one to look out for Dean over the past two months, not his dad. His dad couldn't give two shits about what happened to him, he was still hell-bent on his own stupid revenge, still trying to catch the thing that killed his wife, Mary. What kind of father left their own kid to go chase a demon that may or may not exist? He would rather let Dean stew in some god-forsaken corner of the world?

He'd never felt such unbridled rage toward his father before, and he so badly wanted to be the one to shove it all in his face this time, to turn his back on 'the family business' and go lead his own life, finally push back on John all the things he'd shoved onto Dean.

Except, he couldn't. Not because of John or Sonny or Robin though. Because there was Sam. He couldn't leave Sam, couldn't make him shoulder all the multitude of weighty problems that John had stacked on him. He wished he could. Oh, he so badly wished he could up and go, leave the memory of the hunter lifestyle behind him, but he couldn't abandon Sam to that fate.

So he'd shook Sonny by the hand, grabbed his army duffle bag by the handle and, still in his shirt and tie, stepped out of the dorm room, leaving his dreams behind him.

It had only been two months, but to Dean, it'd felt like two years.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry these last few have been Dean centered, I just write him better than I do Sam. Thanks for reading guys!**

 **Much Love,  
Soulhearts**


	14. Into That Good Night

14\. _Into That Good Night_ ― **23** **.0** **9** **(** **Do You Believe in Miracles?** **)**

The first thing Dean was really aware of was the gravelly voice echoing from the corner of the room, the deep, rumbling sound ricocheting off the inside of his skull. At first, it seemed easy enough to ignore, especially considering that something _inside_ him felt weird. Yes, something felt off… or perhaps, even lighter? It was like some heavy weight had been lifted from his chest, something that had previously been crushing him but also, until now, had not made itself known. No, that wasn't quite right either. It was more like… it had always weighed on him, but he'd never really taken much notice before now, he'd just assumed that it was supposed to be there. However, things felt very different now and Dean…well, _he kinda liked it._ He felt _good!_ Hell, for the first time in a long time he felt positively fan-fucking-tastic! But the gravelly sound was still there and that was getting kind of irritating, especially since he was slowly rising into consciousness and nearly able to make out the words.

"… one story about Cain that I might've… forgotten to tell you…"

Dean was very confused and almost baffled. That voice… he knew that voice, but it wasn't Sam and it wasn't Cas… _Damn_ , whose voice was that? He listened again, this time straining to make out the timbre and quality so he could match the discarnate voice to a face.

"Apparently, he too was willing to accept death, rather than becoming the killer the mark wanted him to be. So, he took his own life with the blade. He died. Except, as rumour has it, the mark never quite let go…"

 _Oh, god damn it._ He knew who this was. The insistently incessant drivel had given it away after more than two sentences. Crowley. It was fucking _Crowley_.

"You can understand why I never spoke of this,"―honestly, with all the talking this demon did, Dean was surprised he hadn't previously shared it just for gossip― "Why set hearts aflutter at mere speculation?"

By god, was this guy ever going to get to the punchline of this bad joke? With Crowley here, Dean could only fear what was to come next. The issue was though, he _didn't_ fear it. He didn't feel even the slightest bit afraid and for a moment he wondered if this was how empowered Sam had felt without his soul. Dean felt free and _strong!_ He could feel it, bubbling away underneath his skin, a power quickly coming to a euphoric climax, a rock song reaching its chorus.

"…maybe miracles do come true." Crowley continued, Dean having zoned out of his droning for half a second. "Listen to me Dean Winchester, what you're feeling right now is not death, it's _life_! A _new_ kind of life.

"Open your eyes Dean," the demon ordered, Dean momentarily struggling to do so as he felt his blackened soul roar to life like the engine of a jet plane. The raw power of it was so tangible, so decisive and strong, like it was ready to seek out this new life Crowley was harping on about. "See what I see, feel what I feel. Let's go take a howl at that moon."

He didn't have to think about it, he just had to do it, he just had to accept it and it would bring him to what it wanted. So his eyes flicked open and he suddenly saw it all, inhibitions removed, and that was the moment it all clicked nicely into place.


End file.
